On the Wings of Despair|
Summary: As Boromir lies dying, someone unexpected is grieving his loss.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. I give all credit to Tolkien and his literary genius.
The winds whistle around me
whispering tidings of woe. I strain to hear the notes of the horn carried
on the air. The horn, that legend states will carry unimpeded throughout
the land, rings with a sense of urgency.
“Come to me. I am in need.”
Its call echoes in my soul. I sense its desperation and long to answer.
“Protect my champion!”
I beg of the land. “Do not let him fall.” Yet even as I plead, I
know. My favored son will not return to me. He will never stand tall
in the morning’s light looking over my city. I can feel the warmth
of his life blood seeping into my earth. He is in pain and despair.
For a moment I pause. Is there
still hope? There is another at his side, one who has an aura of hope
and peace. Can this one bring him back to me? He kneels beside my champion
and I see his power revealed. He is one long hoped for, yet not expected.
His hands gently brush my captain’s face, grief etched upon his features.
“My brother, my captain,
my king.” Boromir’s dying words drift across the miles and my heart
breaks. The healing hands of the king cannot save him. I will never
again know the tread of his foot upon my stair, nor the ripple of his
cloak in the winds around my heights. His father and brother will grieve,
but like I do. The people will long for him, but not like I will.
I have watched him grow from
a small sturdy child to the powerful warrior he has become. He learned
his letters and numbers in my chambers. His first steps were in my gardens.
My halls rang with his childhood laughter and wept with his tears. Ever
he has been a fixture of this citadel. He and his brother raced along
my passageways, chasing each other through my rooms. Their joyful shouts
echoed in my courtyards. How akin they are in looks and yet they are
so very different in disposition. Boromir always the more brash and
forceful, tempered by his brother, the scholar. What a pair they made.
I ache to turn back Arda to happier moments. But I cannot. He marched
forth with such determination, but he will not return. His company will
ride out once more but their Captain-general will not be at their head.
The land is silent now. It
waits and watches as his body is committed to the great river. I strain
to follow the boat as it sails over the falls. The lamentations of Aragorn
and Legolas rise above the trees and through their song they set my
champion’s spirit free.
Three days later, with my grief
still raw, I realize I must tell his brother. Faramir will also be heartbroken
at the loss of his best friend, his protector, his teacher. I implore
the Valar to visit him with a vision or a dream to bring him news of
his brother’s doom. As the watches pass, I observe as Faramir steadfastly
carries out his duty from Osgiliath. Suddenly at the midnight hour,
he stands and wades into the flowing waters of Anduin. His grey eyes
stare at nothing for several long moments. Finally with a jerk, he rouses
and returns to himself. I smile sadly to myself for he now knows. Soon
the horn is found and my halls ring with his father’s grief. The Lord
of the city hides himself within my secret rooms, seeking to bury his
pain. I cannot help him for he will not find comfort within my walls.
Suddenly I realize that there
is a light tread upon my stair. Faramir comes to the ledge on which
his brother was accustomed to standing and he greets the dawn, his tears
glittering on his cheeks. His soul like mine is heavy. Together we grieve
and together we will heal for I also remember the solemn promise given
to Boromir as he left this world.
“I will not allow the white tower to fall.” Aragorn swears to him.
In the midst of my pain, I begin to feel the stirrings of hope. Perhaps
our people’s future is indeed secure.